


Prince and Rogue

by besanii



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Kissing, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Tortall AU, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A little bird told me you were out and about in the city,” Eames replies vaguely. He taps the side of his nose with a wink. “Thought I’d see if I could help.”</p><p>Arthur sighs. “Is there anywhere that’s safe from your spies, Eames?”</p><p>“Not a one,” Eames says with a bright smile. “I’m not the Rogue for nothing, now am I? King of Thieves and all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince and Rogue

**Author's Note:**

> I blame [Sarah](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/) for this.
> 
> First fic in this fandom and all, please let me know how it goes? This is a set in the Tortall universe, originally created by the amazing [Tamora Pierce](http://tamorapierce.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The underage kissing tag is there just in case because Arthur is fifteen, a newly minted squire, and Eames is about twenty. And they kiss.

Arthur receives summons from Sir Miles as he leaves Etiquette with Robert and his friends. Browning shoots him a curious look as he skims the note, but Robert claps him on the shoulder with an easy grin and tells him to answer the missive before the Duke personally comes after him to get an answer.

“You know how Uncle is,” Robert says. “Best not to keep him waiting too long.”

They part ways at the stairwell. Robert and the others head down and onward to their knight masters' rooms, while Arthur turns into a corridor on the left that would take him to the Duke of Naxen’s quarters. He pauses in front of the heavy wooden doors to straighten his shirt and doublet, and run a hand through his loose curls, wincing as it snags on a tangle of knots.

When he feels sufficiently groomed, or as groomed as one can be after a morning of lessons, he raises a hand to the brass knocker. The command comes almost immediately.

“Enter.”

Miles of Naxen makes for a formidable presence even when seated behind a large desk, surrounding by towering stacks of loose parchment. His once-chestnut brown hair has turned grey with flecks of silver, and a myriad of frown lines frame his dark eyes. He glances up as Arthur enters, casting a critical eye over his state of dress as Arthur executes a perfect bow.

“Your hair needs cutting, boy,” he notes wryly. “It’s beginning to resemble a mop.”

Arthur grins.

“I’m trying to start a trend, sir,” he replies. “The boys all say this style in particular is favoured by the ladies in the city for its roguish charm.”

“Don’t be pert, Arthur of Trebond.” Miles sets down the letter he had been examining and leans back in his chair. “Take a seat.”

Arthur settles on the chair in front of the desk, back straight and proper, his hands placed obediently in his lap. Miles taps the letter.

“I have received a rather… _interesting_ message from Trebond this morning,” he says. Arthur tenses as the Duke picks it up and examines its contents again. “It says that Lord Alan of Trebond has fallen ill and asks that his eldest son Dominick of Trebond be excused from his duties in the palace to help manage the estate in his stead.”

Arthur feels his face heat under Miles’ scrutiny. The Duke raps his finger on the desk sharply, his expression unreadable.

“I hope,” he says, “that you have an explanation.”

Arthur swallows.

“Your Grace,” he starts slowly, keeping his face carefully composed. “Your Grace should know that our – my brother Dominick and my – father’s care of us is negligent at best. Some days we doubt he even remembers we exist, sir. I doubt he even remembers which of his sons he sent to the palace.”

Miles’ eyes narrow, and his lips press into a thin line. Arthur recognises the same expression Dom would have when in deep contemplation, or suspicion. He hopes, at least, that the Duke is the former. He dares not think about what would happen if he were suspicious. The Duke hums thoughtfully and nods his head; Arthur releases a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“Lord Alan has always buried himself in his books, even as a page,” Miles agrees. “Never quite aware of what was happening around him. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if the building burned down around his ears.”

Arthur allows the corner of his lips to pull upward.

“He probably got me and my brother confused, Your Grace.”

“My brother and I,” Miles corrects absently. Arthur’s grin widens. “Alright, Arthur of Trebond. I will grant you leave to return to your estate to manage your father’s affairs. You may have the afternoon off to go into the city to make the necessary preparations.”

Arthur bows smartly.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

 

\--

 

Robert meets him at the castle doors. He had changed out of the doublet and hose and into his training attire for the afternoon lessons, and doesn’t appear surprised to see Arthur hadn’t done the same.

“I heard the news,” he says before Arthur even opens his mouth. “Are you leaving straight away?”

“No, not yet,” Arthur replies. “I’m going into the city for supplies first, and leaving later in the evening.”

“I’ll come with you,” Robert offers. Arthur shakes his head.

“It’s only the city, Your Highness, I know my way,” he says. “Been there loads of times, remember?”

Robert agrees reluctantly and follows Arthur down to the gates. Arthur doesn’t tell him that he is perfectly capable of walking himself those last few metres, secretly grateful for the Prince’s company. They come to a stop just before the gates and Robert clasps his shoulder in parting.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your father, Arthur,” he says sincerely. The look he gives Arthur is long and searching. It brings a strange heat to Arthur’s cheeks and a jolt in his chest, which he masks under the pretence of straightening his doublet. The grip on his shoulder tightens. “We will all be praying for his health.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Robert wrinkles his nose, all seriousness gone. “Just Robert, please. We are friends, are we not, Arthur of Trebond?”

“Of course, Prince Robert,” Arthur chirps obediently. He dodges the Prince’s attempt to cuff him over the head with a laugh.

“Away with you!” Robert cries, laughing with him. Arthur is pleased to see his blue eyes bright with mirth.

“Right away, Your Highness.”

He offers a mocking salute and dodges another swat, still laughing as he starts towards the gates.

“Oh, and Arthur?”

Arthur pauses mid-step, half-turned with his head cocked to one side in question. His heart skips a beat to see the intent expression in the Prince’s eyes, and the sudden tightening of his mouth.

“Be safe.”

Arthur swallows thickly, and nods.

 

\--

 

An hour and a half later, Arthur’s arms are laden with packages. He picks his way through the crowd at the market, keeping to the fringes as he juggles his purchases. He curses silently for not taking up the Prince’s offer to help and resigns himself to having to delay his return to the palace.

He slips into a side street for a moment’s respite, and runs straight into another person.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims, craning around his load in an attempt to see the other person. “Are you alright?”

“Easy there, duckling,” a familiar voice laughs. “Don’t want to drop everything now, do you?”

Arthur bristles at the nickname even before Eames appears at his side with a grin, his hands tucked into his belt and shoulders set in an easy slouch.

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur snaps. Eames only grins wider, reaching forward without a word to relieve Arthur of half his load. Arthur lets him – he isn’t about to turn down an offer to help, after all – and sighs in relief at the sudden alleviation of weight from his arms. He glances suspiciously at Eames, raising an eyebrow. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“A little bird told me you were out and about in the city,” Eames replies vaguely. He taps the side of his nose with a wink. “Thought I’d see if I could help.”

Arthur sighs. “Is there _anywhere_  safe from your spies, Eames?”

“Not a one,” Eames says with a bright smile. “I’m not the Rogue for nothing, now am I? King of Thieves and all.”

He reaches over to ruffle Arthur’s hair and is met with a scowl.

“Stop it,” Arthur says, trying to dodge the hand to little effect. Eames smirks.

“Feathers look like they need a little trimming, my duckling,” he says teasingly. “Your tail’s getting a little long there.”

Arthur huffs, shouldering his way past Eames and back onto the main street. He hears Eames fall into step beside him. They walk in companionable silence back to the gates, although several times Arthur thinks he sees Eames’ hand dart out lightning-quick into a nearby pocket, no doubt to relieve them of their contents, but every time he does, Eames looks over with a warm smile. Arthur scowls each time, the tips of his ears warming, until they reach the palace gates. He turns to the thief.

“Thank you for your help, Master Rogue,” he says with exaggerated politeness. “I’m sure I can manage on my own from here.”

“So eager to get rid of me then, Arthur?” Eames asks with feigned hurt. Arthur ignores him, but the flush along his ears darkens and spread to his neck. “You’ll be travelling to Trebond alone?”

“If His Grace cannot arrange for a manservant to accompany me.”

Eames frowns, the corners of his mouth pulling down, tight and unhappy. An odd fluttering stirs in the pit of Arthur’s stomach, seeing the way the thief pulls his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. He clears his throat loudly.

“Master Rogue, if I may?” he asks, giving the parcels in Eames’ arms a pointed look. Eames smiles.

“Certainly.”

He places his load carefully on top of Arthur’s. The extra weight throws him off and he staggers, almost sending the entire load toppling. He tries to right his footing, shifting one of his feet backward. As he does so, Eames darts forward and reaches hands under Arthur's elbows keep him steady. Arthur looks up; the movement brings them much closer than he had anticipated. He can see the shades of green that fleck his light blue eyes at this close proximity; the revelation starts his stomach fluttering again. 

“Eames?” he asks, after a long moment. His throat feels suddenly parched. “Is something the matter?”

One of the hands on Arthur’s elbow slides upward, coming to rest heavily on the junction between Arthur’s neck and shoulder. The touch sends shivers down his back despite how warm Eames is. His heart is pounding, near ready to leap from his chest. Eames brings his other hand to cup Arthur’s jaw, tilting his face upward.

“You’ll likely be cross with me, duckling,” he says softly, brushing the line of Arthur’s cheekbone with his thumb. His eyes are fever-bright. “But I suspect this may be the only time I’ll catch you with your hands full.”

Before Arthur can ask what he could possibly mean by that, Eames closes the scant distance between them and presses his lips to Arthur’s, soft and firm. The touch sends a tingle through Arthur’s body and he is reminded strangely of the sensation he feels when reaching for his Gift, chased by gentle warmth pooling in his chest and leaving him trembling. He sighs softly into the kiss. 

Eames pulls away slowly, his beautifully bright eyes searching Arthur’s face for any hint of distress. Arthur looks back, wide-eyed and breathless, cheeks and lips dusted pink. 

“Be safe, Arthur,” Eames murmurs. “And come home soon.”

Arthur watches him leave, staring at his retreating back until it vanishes into the crowd, his lips still tingling.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)


End file.
